Princess Sultana's Circle Page 10

  I cried out in anguish. These girls were younger even than Amani!

  “What did you tell them?”

  “I promised them that I would come back, and soon! That I would bring my mother to them, and that she would know what to do.”

  “Oh, Maha.” I closed my eyes and let my chin fall onto my chest. “If only life were so simple.”

  With a sinking feeling, I begin to recall the number of times that I, too, was as idealistic and optimistic as my daughter. Now, as a woman of forty, I knew that it was not a simple matter to come between men and their sexual desires. It is the natural inclination of many men, and not only in the Middle East, to seek out young girls or young women as sexual conquests. And too often it seems to be of no concern to them that their pleasure is taken from one who is too young, or forced against her will.

  “What a cruel and evil world we live in,” I said dejectedly, as tears filled my eyes.

  Maha looked at me with trusting eyes. “What are you going to do, Mother? I promised them!”

  I made a painful admission. “I do not know, Maha. I do not know.”

  “Perhaps Father can help,” Maha said, with hope reflected in her innocent face. “Just as he saved Amani’s birds!”

  I sat silently, fighting the irresistible force of our reality. I recalled clearly a time in the late 1980s when Cory Aquino, the President of the Philippines, had made a diplomatic issue out of young Filipino girls being hired to come as housemaids to Saudi Arabia, but when they arrived, being forced to serve as sex slaves. Aquino had banned single Filipino women from traveling to Saudi Arabia.

  Our own King Fahd had become furious at this insulting restriction and reacted with a ban of his own, saying that all Filipinos, both male and female, would be forbidden from working in Saudi Arabia if President Aquino’s ban was enforced.

  Aquino’s brave attempt to protect her countrywomen was a failure, for the economy of her country greatly depended upon Filipino people working in the oil rich lands of the Middle East and sending their money back to support their families.

  And so young Filipino women hired as housemaids still serve our men as sex slaves, in addition to their household duties.

  “Mother?”

  I searched my mind for a solution, but, once more, I had to admit, “I do not know what to do.”

  “If Father can free a bunch of birds, why can’t he do the same for human beings?”

  “Your father has gone for the day.”

  “Then, Mother, we shall go there. We will bring those girls back here, and we will hire them to work as our maids!” she said passionately.

  “Maha, it is more complicated than that.”

  Maha jumped to her feet with pain and fury on her face. Her words were rash. “I will go alone, then! Like Amani, I will free these girls by myself!”

  Knowing that my daughter had made up her mind, I realized I had no choice.

  “All right, Maha. We will go together.” I informed my Filipino maid, Letha, that we were leaving, instructing her that the moment Amani awakened, she should tell her that the birds now belonged to her. Then I accompanied Maha back to “Paradise Palace,” not knowing what to expect.

  Once we had arrived on Faddel’s palace grounds, I told our driver, “We are meeting Khalidah outside the palace.” I pointed to the “Stallions” sign. “Please drop us off here, return to the gate, and await our summons.” Both the driver and I carried cellular telephones.

  A skeptical look passed across the driver’s face, but he did as he was instructed.

  My plan was to gather the young women’s names and the addresses of their families so I could contact their relatives. Once found, I calculated that their parents could demand their daughters’ return through their countries’ embassies.

  Maha and I both fell silent as we walked down that long pathway. We were both aware that we were involving ourselves in a very serious matter. And all without Kareem’s knowledge.

  Soon I saw the infamous pavilion, standing alone, just as Maha had described it. To me, this building seemed identical to the other pavilions except that, upon closer inspection, I saw that the windows were barred!

  “How can we get inside?” I whispered, certain that this building was securely locked.

  “The door is unlocked,” Maha told me, to my disbelief. “I asked the girls why they did not run away. I was told that several girls had done so, but without their passports and the appropriate travel papers signed by a Saudi man, they were always brought back to certain punishment and even worse treatment.”

  “Hmmm.” I could understand this. Unfortunately, most people in Saudi Arabia, expatriates and native citizens alike, would be too fearful of government retaliation to offer help to any woman claiming she was being held in sexual bondage. Few people will risk imprisonment for the sake of a stranger, and the men of my family often take revenge upon people who expose the dark side of life in Saudi Arabia.

  As we neared the pavilion, I was dumbfounded when a very old and bizarre-looking little man stepped out of the bushes and in front of our path. We were both so shocked at his appearance that we screamed.

  Gasping for breath, I stood without speaking as I took in this most unusual creature. He was short and skinny and ebony black. He appeared shorter than he was by an unfortunate forward curvature of the spine. His withered face showed his extreme age. His skin hung in loose folds around his jowls. Yes, I decided, this was indeed the most ancient person I had ever seen.

  Despite his age, though, he was dressed in a bright yellow blouse and a sequined red vest. A silk turban, turquoise in color, was wound around his head. His full-cut drawers, fashioned out of a rich brocade run through with golden threads, suggested the costumes of another age.

  “May I help you, Madam.” The man’s voice was abnormally highpitched. And, kindly!

  I looked more closely into his face and saw brown eyes that were sparkling with curiosity.

  “Madam?” He waved one small black hand before my eyes.

  I noted that he wore a ring on every finger.

  “Who are you?” I managed to sputter.

  “I am Omar,” he said, with great pride. “Omar, of the Sudan.”

  For the first time I noticed that the old man’s face was as hairless as my own. Suddenly I was struck with a thought. Was I looking at a eunuch? I wondered. Certainly, there were no longer eunuchs in Saudi Arabia! Surely, they were all dead by now!

  In the not so distant past, there were many eunuchs in Arabia. Although the Islamic faith forbids Muslims to castrate young boys themselves, Muslims were not forbidden from owning eunuchs as slaves. In fact, my forebears considered eunuchs as prized possessions, and paid huge sums for them. Once, eunuchs guarded the harems of wealthy Arabs. And they were also a common sight in the mosques of Makkah and Medina, where they were assigned to separate the women from the men when they entered the mosques.

  Now, here I was actually looking at one of these eunuchs, now pitifully aged! I was certain of it!

  Acid words came to my tongue, for I was immediately convinced of the role of this little man here at Faddel’s pavilion. “And, I suppose you guard Faddel’s harem?”

  Omar chuckled lightly. “No, Madam, I do not.” He flexed one thin arm and pinched loose flesh hanging from the other arm. “I could only guard prisoners who are volunteers, nothing more.”

  As I looked down at his small shrunken figure, I saw his point.

  He explained. “Faddel’s father was once my master; his son allows me to live on these premises.”

  Maha had soon overcome her fear of the little man. She now impatiently tugged on my arm. “Mother! Please hurry!”

  Omar’s appearance had taken me back to another time, and I was curious to ask this eunuch many questions, but the compelling reason for my visit here took precedence. I must find the imprisoned women before I was discovered by Faddel. My only hope was that the eunuch would not alert Faddel and Khalidah of our unauthorized entry into the grounds.


  “We are here only to speak to the young women living there,” I pointed at the pavilion. “We will not be long. You have my word.”

  Omar swept his head to the ground in a graceful bow, “You are most welcome.”

  Enchanted at his display of gracious manners, I smiled as Maha and I brushed past him.

  The moment we stepped into the interior of the pavilion, we were surrounded by a large number of excited young women. Most looked Asian. Maha was greeted with many hugs and kisses. Happy voices rang out in the room. “You kept your word! We will be freed!”

  I cautioned them. “Quiet! You will wake those already in the grave!”

  The loud laughing voices then became low, joyful voices.

  I took a moment to survey Faddel’s harem while the anxious young women swirled around Maha with many questions. Surprisingly, considering Faddel’s preoccupation with all things beautiful, the room where we stood appeared rather shabby. Although the furniture was expensive and the walls were covered in gold silk, ornate decorations appeared garish and grubby. Stacks of videotapes and ashtrays piled high with cigarette butts and ashes cluttered the room.

  I looked closely at the young girls. Each one was beautiful, but their tawdry attire drew the eye more than their beauty. Some were dressed in Western-style halter-tops and jeans; others wore sheer nighties. There was nothing glamorous about their harem apparel. Sadly, all of them were unbearably young.

  While most of the girls were Asian, I saw one who appeared to be Arab. Several were smoking cigarettes and sipping cold drinks. I had never imagined that a harem and its occupants could appear so conspicuously vulgar. However, I imagined that to Faddel’s eyes, these young women were like the seductive virgins called “houris” that are described in the Koran. I suspected that I was looking at a stage intended to provide untold delights for Faddel. Yet, this must be the scene of unspeakable hell for these women held against their will.

  “Everyone, quickly, sit down,” I ordered, as I retrieved a pen and pad from within my large handbag. “We do not have much time,” I said, as I looked toward the door at the entry of the pavilion. I gasped when I saw that Omar had followed Maha and me, and was now sitting comfortably on the carpeted floor. He smiled broadly. However, some inner sense told me that I had no reason to fear the little man.

  “Now, I am going to pass this notebook around the room. Everyone, please write down your name, and an address where I can reach your relatives.”

  A low moan of disappointment and frustration swept through the room. One of the older girls, whom I judged to be about twenty years old, asked me in her soft voice, “Then, we are not going with you today, Ma’am?”

  Sadly, with my hand I made a sweeping motion around the room. “I cannot. Look at you, you are too many. I have no way of obtaining passports. You would be returned before nightfall.” I paused as I quickly counted. There were twenty-five young girls in that room. I then tried to speak above the din of their voices.

  “Your families must protest to their embassies. That is your best chance for release.”

  Sobbing voices began to clamor in objection.

  One of the younger girls, who disclosed that she was from Thailand, wailed, “But, Ma’am, my own parents sold me to this man.” Her sobbing voice drifted off. “They will not help me…”

  “That is my story too,” said another girl, shivering in her skimpy outfit. “I was taken from my small village in the North to Bangkok. My brother collected many American dollars for me.”

  Another frightened girl said, “I believed that I had been hired to work as a maid! But, it was all a lie!”

  “And, I? I was employed as a seamstress in a factory. My days were spent sewing; my nights were spent serving many men. I was sold to three different men before being purchased by Master Faddel.”

  Trying to collect my bewildered thoughts, I exchanged a glance with Maha. If the families of these young girls had actually sold them into slavery, how could I possibly help them?

  “Let me think,” I said nervously. “I need to think.”

  A delicate young beauty, her eyes tear-filled, lightly touched my arm. “You must take us with you! If you only knew my story, you would not leave me here, not for another moment!”

  Looking into the sad eyes of that young woman, my heart broke. Although I was fearful of wasting time, I listened quietly.

  Encouraged by my silence, the young woman said, “I am from a large family in Laos. My family was starving, so when two men from Bangkok offered money to take me with them, my parents had no choice. I was chained together with three other girls from my village, and then we were taken to Bangkok. We were unloaded at a large warehouse. Then we were forced to stand naked on a platform before a room filled with men. We were sold at auction. The other two girls were purchased by a brothel owner, but I was bought by a man representing Arabs. And, that is how I came to be here, Ma’am.” Her voice grew low in a pitiful plea. “Please do not leave me.”

  This story stunned me into silence. Women were being sold at auctions, to the highest bidders?

  Omar interrupted, “Why not take these girls with you today, Mistress? Leave them at their embassies. They can take shelter there, I believe.”

  What Omar said was true. I recalled a London television news report of maltreated Filipino maids in neighboring Kuwait who had taken refuge in just such a manner. Although the Kuwaiti government had denied their stories of mistreatment, and forced these young women to live in limbo for many months, eventually they had been given their freedom to return to their home countries.

  I smiled once again at Omar. I had hoped he would not be a foe, but I had never dreamed that he would be such an ally!

  Soft voices mingled together in a demand for freedom. “Yes! Yes! Take us today!”

  A small, pretty girl with Arabic features inched closer to me. “Please, help us, Ma’am. Our master is a cruel man. He and four of his six sons come to us every day. Oftentimes, he brings many other bad men with him.”

  “Our life here is too horrible,” another girl said as she looked beseechingly into my face. “You can not imagine what we endure, Ma’am.”

  I took a deep breath. Should I try to save these girls, no matter the consequences? One look at Maha’s face answered my question. Yes, I should! Yes, I would! But, first, I must form a plan. I looked at the girls around me. Many were scantily dressed. I could not take them on the streets of conservative Saudi Arabia in such attire. Angry, rock-throwing crowds would gather, which would ensure failure. “Do you have cloaks to cover your bodies?”

  Several of the girls exchanged looks. One said, “There are none here that we know of.”

  “Use the sheets from the beds,” Omar suggested, giving me a sly, knowing look. “There are ample beds to provide many covers.”

  I glanced at opened doors surrounding the harem. Most led into small cubicles that held beds.

  While the girls ran from room to room collecting sheets and bed covers, some of the smallest girls gathered around me. I was astonished to see that two of these girls were mere children! One was no more than eight or nine years old!

  I held these children tightly, fighting back rage and tears. How could any mother sell her own daughter? It was utterly unthinkable.

  My head was spinning. I knew that I could not transport all twenty-five girls in one automobile. Despite the risk to this secret mission, I must call home and arrange for several other drivers to meet me at Faddel’s palace.

  I motioned to my daughter, “Maha, take these children and find covers for them.” When Maha took the children from my arms, I retrieved my cellular phone from my bag. My chance to make that call never came.

  The room erupted in chaos when Faddel, Khalidah, and three large men walked into the room. I felt a deadly chill in my veins as I looked into Faddel’s cold eyes.

  “When we heard the uproar, we had no idea that we had such a distinguished guest,” Faddel said with a smirk as he pulled the telephone
from my frozen fingers. “Sultana, you are not welcome here. Leave this place, at once.”

  I looked past Faddel to Khalidah. The last time I had seen Khalidah she had fainted. She looked deadly calm, now.

  “Surely, Khalidah, you do not approve of this.”

  Khalidah looked at me with contempt. “It is not for you, Sultana, to say what goes on in another man’s home.”

  When the young women realized what was happening, a chorus of screams rang throughout the room. Faddel made a quick motion with his hand. The three burly men accompanying him began to push the young women into rooms and lock them away.

  “Maha!” I shouted as I looked around wildly. “Come here, now!” The idea that my daughter might be locked in with these poor women brought me to the verge of hysterics.

  I grabbed Maha’s hands as soon as I found her. Once she was safely by my side, I began to plead with Khalidah, hoping she would support the cause of women, her sisters.

  “Khalidah, you must know that these young girls are being raped repeatedly—by your husband, sons, and other men!” I paused, “And surely, as a wife and mother, this cannot be to your liking!”

  On the surface, Khalidah was stunningly beautiful, but her words today proved to me that she was ugly inside. Worse, she was emotionally and spiritually dead.

  She appeared to be unmoved by my words. “Sultana, this business concerns men, only.”

  “If you truly believe that, Khalidah, then you are nothing more than a reed in the wind, with no mind of your own.”

  Khalidah’s face reddened, but she did not respond to my challenge.

  I had heard the rumor some years before that Khalidah’s attraction to Faddel’s enormous wealth was the cause for her blind obedience and loyalty. I longed to shout at Khalidah, to remind her of the wise proverb, that “she who marries a gorilla for money, when the money goes, the gorilla remains a gorilla.” Life is indeed strange, and the day might come when Khalidah found herself with a destitute Faddel whose wickedness would prove more permanent than his wealth.

  But I said nothing, aware that such words would not further the cause of freedom for these young women.